Now, you can USE an iPad IN gardening, and there are a ton of apps and tools and toys and widgets and networks and other digital doodads you can spend your money on. But sooner or later you’ve got to get your hands dirty, and that’s even if you wear gloves. You can HAVE a garden if you merely pay someone else to get their hands dirty. But that’s not gardening, and the result will be something you own, not something you understand.

On the other hand, if all your day and all your week is taken up with screens and apps and tools and toys and widgets and networks and digital doodads, but you gardened last year, you still might miss seed-bust. You might miss bulbs opening. You might miss the angle of early morning light on the leaves of the tulips you planted months ago, leaves that turned out to be the contorted kind you admired when you saw them at a public garden you strolled with your favorite cousin, the one who’s funny and successful and bright and generous and whom you never get to see enough of, but who loves trees and flowers and words just like you.

No, gardening is real, not virtual, and if you forget that, if you fail to glove up while doing even an hour’s worth of spring cleanup, you’ll come away with a few cuts on your palms and a right thumb full of jabby bits almost too tiny to see. It’s a reminder that minutes are real, dirt is real, thorns are real, the blood and sweat you shed is real, the time and money you can’t spend are real, weeds are real.

But then. So is bloom. So are surprises. So are gifts. So is gardening with a friend and making both of your patches of dirt, whatever their size, a little more joyful, a little more productive, a little more nurturing of beings you may not even wake up early enough, or look closely enough, A lawn full of fat robins. A birdbath swarmed by doves. A spider’s home in the Spartan juniper.

Plants don’t judge. They connect us in a blessedly silent, wordless, screenless way. Without software, they offer us more each time we look, each time we touch, smell, dig, mulch, seed.

But only if we unplug and pay attention.

Are you ready to Grow? The Denver Post’s garden section returns Friday, March 30.

Luckily, this year just happened to serve up exactly what they desire.

If you’re strolling around peeking at neighbors’ gardens, wondering just what that gorgeous stuff that has just begun to bloom is (chances are good that at this time of year, it’s not much bigger than a crocus or a snowdrop), you want to get a peek at genial Brit Anna Pavord’s giant, photo-licious tome, “Bulbs.” If you’re strolling in the Denver Botanic Gardens in the next few days, keep your eyes out for the stunning little reticulated iris, “Pauline.” I have reticulated irises, too, and their little noses are up above the ground — but no blooms yet.

And then, come fall when you’re buying and planting bulbs, just remember: Be lavish. You deserve it.

And come the gray, brown, gray time of early spring, you’ll want it. And maybe even need it.

And for trees this size, that doesn’t mean climbing your ladder and attacking them with a chainsaw. In fact, stay off of that ladder and drop the loppers. First off, be safe, says Ralph Bronk of Mountain High Tree, Lawn & Landscape Co. Climbing a ladder with a two-handed tool is simply asking to be injured. Even the pros are roped into the tree to prevent falls or simply bring the big bucket truck.

The tree in the photo that Bronk provided has what’s known as a double leader — a narrow “V” that, had the tree been pruned properly when it was small, wouldn’t exist. Those two trunks are joined by weak tissue that’s prone to split in wind, especially if the tree has suffered internal decay or drought stress or been previously weakened (like, by the hella West winds we’ve been having all year.). This is something that expert tree gals and guys know. Don’t just hand money to someone who shows up on your porch with a chain saw. Seek out a qualified arborist. Usually, that will be a tree company that at least HAS some certified arborists on staff. They’re nice, they really know trees, and unless they have to climb the tree or bring the bucket truck to see the damage, they don’t charge for their estimates. They can even advise you on a regular pruning/thinning schedule, so that this won’t happen to you.So what are you supposed to do this weekend, when there’s finally little wind and it’s a little bit warm and you’re all gassed up to go outside and wreak order upon your yard chaos?

Because really, what you need to do mostly is have patience. Tackle those OTHER yard chores. Trim & tidy your cold-hardiest perennials. Water and fertilize your budding bulbs. You’ve got until about mid-April to deal with your tree (though arborists can prune throughout the year.) Wait until the almost-freezing cold of midnight or the crack of dawn and knock down any old wasp nests. Get after your gutters. Really, there’s plenty to do out there. [Hey, I’ve got BEETS still in the ground from last fall! I guess I’d better go dig them up!]

If your tree lost a lot of canopy in last October’s snow, it’s going to need all the leaves it can produce to feed itself and recover this summer. You can live with a little asymmetry for a year.

This first blush of spring will pass, but an incorrect cut on an already stressed tree? That’s forever. So take it easy. Be safe out there.

I hate preachy cookbooks. If I wanted to be told what to eat, I’d go back 40 years in time and live with my parents. Even some of the gorgeous back-to-the-land, know-your-photogenic-farmer I-raised-this-goat-by-hand cookbooks out this year can strike a note of religious righteousness.

I don’t want a sermon. I just want some great food to keep me company when I break from my garden chores this weekend: cutting ornamental grass, tidying perennials, pruning roses, organizing my seeds …

Even if Dragonwagon’s name wasn’t already whimsical (a press release explains: 16-year-old hippie changes her name in the ’60s, then once she launches a writing career, kind of gets stuck with it) the book is damn fun.

It’s got encyclopedic reach. It taps legume wisdom from Syria, from Japan, from Tennessee. For U.S. Senate Navy Bean Soup, it lists six different variations, including one from Argentina and one from a pharmacist friend from Eureka Springs, Mo. In addition to dessert, there are chapters on bean purees, soups, salads, stews, casseroles, sautés, bean-and-grain combos. There are charts. There’s a four-page section on de-gassifying tucked in. Did you know you can freeze home-cooked beans for up to six months? That right there eliminates my excuse for all the containers of home-cooked beans that I didn’t have time to make into hummus.

More than anything else, the book has an irrepressible spirit of celebration. Dragonwagon writes in the introduction to a chapter on stews and curries, “The lines of categorization do blur: Some bean-based soups in this book might pass as stews, as could many chilis. But rather than fuss over nomenclature, let’s lean in toward the steamy kitchen.” Dragonwagon gradually became a vegetarian, but she doesn’t preach. The book’s mission is fun and flavor, and she gives the ham hock and bacon slab a place of honor.

1. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.
2. Spray a large, heavy, nonreactive sauté pan with oil. (If you have a heavy nonstick pan, omit the oil.)
3. Add 1 cup water and the sugar to the pan and bring it to a boil. Continue to boil, giving it a whisk or two, until the sugar has dissolved, making a clear, hot syrup, about 1 minute. Stir in all the remaining ingredients except the salt.
4. Reduce the heat to medium-high and cook, stirring constantly, until the syrup is much thickened (there should be very little liquid left), 8 to 10 minutes. Toward the end, pay close attention; you want to prevent the peanut mixture from sticking or burning (you may need to turn the heat down slightly).
5. Line a rimmed baking sheet with a silicone baking mat or parchment paper or spray it generously with cooking spray.
6. Transfer the peanut mixture onto the baking sheet, spreading it out evenly. Bake, stirring every 5 minutes or so, until the peanuts have deepened in color and there’s no sign of liquid, 15 to 20 minutes. (If you blow on a peanut and the syrup turns into a crisp, caramelized coat, you’re there). Remove the pan; let the nuts cool slightly, then break up any clumps and salt the nuts. Let cool completely; pack in airtight container and keep for a week to 10 days.

I’m here to tell you: Nobody can resist a rose. But if you want to give a Valentine’s Day present that says you’ll be around a while? Sure, give one longstem, just in a nod to tradition. But add a giftcard to a local nursery that carries Plant Select plants. Because then you get to tell your significant other about this stunner.

Yeah. That’s “Ruby Voodoo.” In addition to just being fun to say (props to the name-pickers!) this rose is a new, 2012 selection for Plant Select. That means it’s one of six plants that the consortium of Colorado State University and Denver Botanic Garden experts have tested in Colorado conditions for years.

Plant Select exec director Pat Hayward gave me the chance to sniff-test this rose last week at ProGreen Expo, the industry conference that preceeds the Colorado Home & Garden Show, which kicks off today (Saturday Feb. 11). It was sitting in a howling gale off the loading dock of the Colorado Convention Center. It wasn’t shivering, it wasn’t wilting. The blooms had been forced in a greenhouse in February, so my own iPhone photo of it doesn’t really do it justice. And yes, it IS fragrant. I definitely salivated. In warm weather, it might have that knee-weakening punch to the limbic system that any fan of roses hankers for. Gets about 5-6 feet tall and is called a “moderate repeat bloomer.” Plant Select’s website has another photo of the whole plant.

I have mostly Plant Select Plants on my hell corner, a.k.a. my “Proof of Life” garden. “Sunset” hyssop. Purple poppy mallow. They’ve done well in really horrid soil, with only occasional pampering. “Wild Thing” salvia got6 winter killed there, but that’s to be expected from a Zone 6 plant. It was still a stunner the year I had it, and drew hawk moths in droves, buzzing around it like crazy at dusk.

There are other 2012 PS plants: a killer bicolored ice plant; two tough, floriferous daisies, one white and one yellow; a weeping white spruce whose graceful, downturned branches will shed snow loads like the one we just got two weeks ago; and a lovely little blue forget-me-not.

Who doesn’t love a rose? A lot of consumers, who think of them as fussy, says Kent Broome, sales rep for Bailey Nurseries. Broome spoke Tuesday (Feb. 7) at ProGreen Expo, the annual confab for plant and landscaping people at the Colorado Convention Center.

And that means the people who sell plants, and the plant breeders who develop them, have a lot of educating to do.

These days, breeders are creating roses to fill a demand for cold hardy, disease-resistent, repeat or ever-blooming plants. “The new generation in their 30s, they want nothing to do with going out and slaving for hours in the rose garden.”

In fact, they don’t even HAVE rose gardens. And that’s just fine – roses are more beautiful and look more natural among perennials, shrubs, and annuals – in short, in the landscape, he says.

Digging in is digging out. There was a two-and-a-half foot drift in my walkway, and more snow to shovel all around the corner. The snow came in from the northeast, so it scooped into my walkway and wrapped all around it.

All night, while the snow silently fell, I had a cooking project going on: Dutch bullet beans that I got from Grant Family Farms last fall. Soaked a pound of them overnight, rinsed and then simmered them in the morning until al dente, drained them while shoveling, and then seasoned them to taste: salt, pepper, Vulcan’s fire salt, fresh ground cumin, then MORE fresh ground cumin, a couple pinches cardamom, a pinch of cinnamon, and then a dressing of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and Bragg’s Amino’s. Tasty! I think that if I had to do it over again, I might have simmered them in broth or cider. They’ll either go into a quinoa pilaf or get smacked with some lime juice and almond butter and become hummus.

I can’t tell you quantities on the seasonings, because that’s just not how I cook: I taste and add and taste and add and sometimes, if I’m not sure of myself, I take a big spoonful of whatever it is I’m seasoning and add a little bit of what I’m thinking of and see how it goes. And then add it to the big batch. I’m not a recipe cook. If I’d had tamari, I’d have added that, but I don’t, and it’s just a great day to raid the pantry and see what I can come up with, with what I have, without hitting the streets or the stores.

Weather is a great teacher. I’ve seen a lot of blizzards in my 13 years in Colorado, a lot of them from the car windows. This one, I embraced and took a vacation day to tie up loose ends. And that makes it more beautiful, even after two hours of shoveling.

12-year-old Shelby Grebenc holds one of her 130-hen flock in Adams County, Colorado.

Shelby recently earned the “Animal Welfare Approved” label for the eggs her 130-some laying hens produce in unincorporated Adams County. She had to meet 26 pages of stringent requirements for the hens’ care, from how wide the doors to their shelter are to the kinds of records she keeps. A half-day inspection from third-party experts checked her work.

“I thought it would be hard, and I didn’t think I would be able to get it,” Shelby said of the label. But once the certification was won, “It kind of made me happy to realize I was doing everything right.”

Shelby’s in 4-H and gets help and advice from Adams County Extension. And a little bit from her brother, Conner, 9. And her dog (who helps deter predators) and her cat (who actually plays with the chickens).

Shelby says the egg operation (about 500 dozen in winter, more in summer) has made her a much better math student, because she has to balance the costs of feed, heat for the shelters, and all of her other inputs against the price she gets for eggs.

You can tell the affection Shelby has for her flock from how she talks about them — and the name she gave her egg operation: Shelby’s Happy Chapped Chicken Butt Farm. Here’s the story behind that wacky name. You can get eggs from her evenings and weekends at the farm at 154th and Huron streets.

And if you’re thinking about adding chickens to your home garden patch, there’s lots of helpful info for you, too.

As I marshalled my courage to pull the blizzard cover off my lettuce, a press release from Den Corner Restaurants, owners of the Denver eateries Sushi Den, Izakaya Den and OTOTO, crossed my desk. Earlier this year, the restaurant consortium bought a 6.5-acre farm in Brighton to supply its fresh produce. Now it’s broken ground on a 3,000-square-foot, passive solar greenhouse to keep that supply going through the winter months, when many fresh veggies are shipped in from warmer states.

The new greenhouse will use “principles of building science including heavy perimeter, wall, and roof insulation, automated insulating shutters, high solar heat gain glazing, systems for controlling solar light and heat to maximize growth, plenty of thermal mass, and carefully controlled ventilation” so that the restaurant can grow its own micro-greens, herbs, and some citrus year-round. Special pipes will route warm air under the soil so that it never freezes.

Pipes will route warm air under the soil at the Den Corner Restaurants Greenhouse

Back at my own house, I’d tossed a white wool U.S. Navy surplus blanket across my brick planter that first cold night last weekend. And then … things got busy and got really cold, and what with this surprise and that surprise … I never did peel it back and cut the lettuce. This morning, the sun was back, and I was braced to find frozen, matted green slime.

I found survivors instead. The warm, south-facing brick planter box surely had something to do with it. Things were a bit smashed and matted down from the snow load, and many arugula leaves (which, frankly is most of what remains) did freeze. But check out that leaf lettuce. And there’s some tattered tat soi peeking out. It all makes me want to build a cold frame to put over those bricks and see just what winter will let me get away with. Hey, if it’s good enough for those chic chefs at Sushi Den …

Now: Who wants to bet me I can keep this zombie lettuce going until the solstice?

Susan Clotfelter has always played in the dirt, but got dragged into gardening as an obsession when she reclaimed her hell corner: a weed-infested patch of clay inhabited by one tough, lonely lilac and a thicket of weeds. Along with training as a Colorado State University Extension Master Gardener volunteer, she dug deeper with beds of herbs and lettuce at her home and rows of vegetables wherever she could borrow land. She writes for The Denver Post and other publications and appears on community radio.

Julie's passion for gardening began in spring of 2000 when she bought a fixer-upper in Denver's Park Hill neighborhood, and realized that the landsape was in desperate need of some TLC. During the drought of 2003, she decided to give up on bluegrass and xeriscape her front yard. She wrote about the journey in the Rocky Mountain News, in a series called Mud, Sweat & Tears: A Xeriscape story. Julie is an avid veggie gardener as well as a seasoned water gardener.